Strange how much of an alien he felt here in London! His imagination, roving always among woods and mountains, a green thought in a green shade, fell choked among bricks and mortar; his sense of smell, keen like that of a wild creature, was offended by the fumes of motor buses, by hot whiffs from restaurants and cook-shops, by the odor of the horses and of asphalt in the sun. Above all, he hated the crowds. City-lovers, city-dwellers all of them, the seedy loafer spitting into the Thames, and the girl in magenta and blanc de perle, who threw him coquettish glances from under her lace veil. "I can do with these people for a few hours, or even for a day or two, but to live here!" he thought. And then came the inevitable corollary: "If I feel like this now, what would it be to be boxed up with twelve or fifteen hundred of them, day and night, for years?" He turned his back on that thought. He had to keep a steady hand to ward off panic, which lurked at his heels like a wolf.
He carried himself and his alien feelings across town, and presently arrived at 22 Canning Street. Miss Smith was out. That he had expected, and he came in to wait. The little maid preceded him up seventy-five steps to Lettice's attic. "Oh, them stairs!" she sighed, with a hand at her waist. Gardiner wondered how Lettice liked the climb. She was not so very fond of hills. But when he was left alone, and had looked out of her window far across the roofs, and seen her glimpse of the river and of the Surrey hills, he understood. It was worth it. Here, above the world, Lettice found the breathing-space which she loved as well as he. There was a pot of violets on the table; he put the blossoms aside with one finger, and buried his nose in the moss surrounding them. That was good! That was the breath of the woods; Gardiner would have given all the flower scents in the world for that wet woody fragrance.
Sitting down, he discovered that he was tired, very tired. It is deadly demoralizing to be hunted. Here for the moment he was safe; and in the blessed relief from strain he fell asleep.
Lettice came in from the Museum at six; she had her own key, and as it chanced did not meet the little maid Beatrice. Up the stairs she toiled, with her neat case of papers, came into her room, meticulously noiseless as her pleasure was, and paused by her table, pulling off her gloves, ever so slowly, before she found energy to look round. Then she saw Gardiner asleep in her chair.
It was one of Lettice's principles never to interfere with anybody if she could possibly help it. She saw no reason for waking him; she did not wake him. She set about making tea instead. A spirit stove burns noiseless; crockery deftly handled need not chink. The soft sounds of Lettice's business would not have startled a mouse. She cut bread and butter. She carried a bunch of water-cress to the tap on the landing and washed it there. She fetched from her cupboard a shape of tongue, a glass of shrimp paste, fresh butter, strawberry jam, bananas—the usual menu of the dweller in rooms. It was not in the bond that she should lay her own meals, but she often did it to save Beatrice's tired legs. Lastly, she made the tea. As she replaced the kettle on the stove, the lid fell off; and Gardiner awoke.
He sat up and stared.
"Tea's ready," Lettice announced, with a benignant smile.
"I never heard you come in!"
"I know," said his hostess, "you were fast asleep. Come along, before the toast gets cold."
She asked no questions, she seemed to want no explanations. Blessed are the people who take things for granted! Gardiner drew up his chair, discovering suddenly that he was hungry. Lettice poured out: soft-toned, placid, soothing Lettice, supplying the needs of his body with maternal care, and sitting there opposite, delicately fresh and neat, with those misleadingly soft, derisive hazel eyes! He liked to watch the slow, accurate movements of her hands, and their funny little flutter of make-believe agitation, when she hastened to supply his request for a piece of sugar.